


(don’t) wanna die tonight

by tyong



Category: Pentagon (Korea Band), Triple H (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drug Use, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sex, Just hyundawn being soft for each other, Making Out, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 21:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15615528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyong/pseuds/tyong
Summary: Hyojong is here, nestled underneath Hyuna’s breast, and he’shers.





	(don’t) wanna die tonight

**Author's Note:**

> ever since i saw 365 fresh i’ve wanted to make a story revolving around triple h. This is just a tiny one shot unfortunately but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless. I’m so happy hyuna and hyojong are official and I hope hyojong’s career isn’t ruined because of his pissy heterosexual female fans :)

 

The bed squeaks, the pressure of a lithe female body straining against the mattresses springs echoing throughout the tiny room. Fiery crimson hair dangles over the edge, tendrils of flames licking at the hardwood floors. Hyuna lays horizontally, head bowed on one side and feet curling on the other. A searing _pop_ rings through the air, and strawberry gum plasters itself against her lips, a pinkish tongue darting out to clean the area around her lips.

The bed is littered with blankets and discarded clothing, some stained permanently with the familiar scent of sex. They swarm Hyuna’s toned frame, her arms caressing them lovingly as if they were her child. She’s bored, ridiculously so, and it’s made clear when another resounding _pop_ is heard.

Smoke invades her senses soon after, the putrid aroma of _marijuana_ wafting its way up her nostrils and making her sigh sensually. She lackadaisically waves a hand in the air, letting it absentmindedly fall onto her face and slowly trail down her cheek. The smell is beautiful, and she need, need, _needs_ it.

Quickly, almost inhumanly, she leans up, and it takes her a few minutes to become adjusted to seeing the world right side up (especially when all the blood in her body is suddenly flowing correctly now).

When her eyes have unblurred she’s bombarded with an angelic sight, ethereal in its beauty and corrupted in its behavior. A sight that makes Hyuna frown and want to smile girlishly all the same.

Hyojong sits on the windowsill, a joint in between his teeth bitten lips. His hair lies wet in his face, naturally messy. His eyes lay upon his own body instead of gazing outdoors, and he’s clad in nothing but denim shorts that hug his thighs tightly. His eyes (as earlier stated) lay upon his arm, which his nimble pointer finger is tracing, almost _adoringly_ , on the old self inflicted wounds that beset him. With a dejected, dramatic sigh, he rips the joint from his lip and exhales, that gorgeous smoke permeating the room once more.

Hyuna stealthily walks towards him, her sheer orange cardigan flowing behind her. Skinny fingers wrap around a small nape, and Hyuna rests her head on Hyojong’s shoulder as she cuddles him from behind. Hyojong doesn’t flinch, he barely moves, but Hyuna sees the way his finger stills from his incessant tracing and the way his eyes shift slightly from behind his bangs ( _She’ll have to remind him to cut those soon_ ).

“What’re you doing?” Hyuna whispers, her breath hot and tickling his ear. Hyojong takes another drag of his joint, and blows the smoke all around them, Hyuna inhaling it sharply and subtly, sighing in pleasure.

“Reminiscing, I guess,” Hyojong replies, his voice small. His manner, his behavior, his _voice_ , all scream that he’s slowly succumbing to his illness, disease plaguing his brain with vile thoughts and self deprecating actions. Her own heart hurts, shudders in her rib cage and pounds roughly, shears of pain echoing throughout her bones. Suddenly she no longer has his unneeded urge to smoke weed until her lungs ache, because Hyojong’s pain is her pain, is _Hwitaek’s_ pain.

It hurts irrevocably, perhaps perennially, to see that no matter what they do Hyojong remains in this depressing slump. He goes out with them, parties and dances and does a ridiculous amount of drugs. That’s their _thing_ , they _always_ do that. And afterwards the three of them will fuck like bunnies and sleep for days, only waking up to steal a fancy, painstakingly expensive car, find a new place and repeat the same process.

Still, time after time, Hyojong _remains_ upset, almost as if this inexplicable, infuriating sadness has swallowed him whole and refuses to spit him out.

“Come to bed,” Hyuna maneuvers her body so that she’s now facing him, eye to eye. His stare is penetrating, his gaze deep and _dead_. His eyes are compelling and Hyuna has a sudden urge to kiss him, everywhere. On his forehead, like a mother would a child. On his lips, passionately like the lover she is. On his scars, her tears that she hates to let fall healing his inner and outer injuries.

Hyojong doesn't verbally reply, but he takes one more drag of his joint before letting it out besides him, crushing it in his palm and letting the residue fall on the floor. Hyuna gently grabs at his hand, soft yet calloused from continuous adventures, and guides him up from his sitting position on the windowsill. Kindly, she leads him to the bed, and as she stares at him almost teasingly, his cherry blossom lips curve upwards, subtly and boyishly. She chuckles lowly, and Hyojong ducks his head almost in a shy manner, his hair promptly covering his soft hearted visage. Hyuna let’s them flop on the bed when she nears it, and they collapse on the mass of sheets and clothing together.

They land side by side, Hyojong’s bruised hands landing near Hyuna’s petite one. They lay there silently, the atmosphere comfortable and quant. The silence is interrupted by the sound of a door opening and closing, female giggles and masculine laughter radiating throughout the loft. It’s Hwitaek, from the sounds of it, with another random girl to fuck. Hyuna stifles her own haughty giggles as her ears hear them stumble into the other bedroom, where clothes are ripped and thrown and the rhythmic sound of skin slapping on skin is heard.

Although Hyuna likes to consider the three of them in one relationship, (polygamy, is the word) it’s been made clear that Hyuna and Hyojong have grown closer and Hwitaek has become more interested in chasing after any woman that looks his way. Of course, Hyuna and Hyojong don’t mind, seeing as how it doesn’t affect the trios relationship as a whole.

Hyojong giggles besides her, his voice high and childish and his eyes are alight with a lurid amount of amusement that make Hyuna herself smile, sanguine lips spreading in pearly tranquility. Gradually, his laughter stops, and his eyes connect with hers. Crepuscular eyes meet slate ones, and Hyuna raises a dainty eyebrow. It’s an unsaid statement, one that both of them know and understand but haven’t quite fully taken in. No words are said, but Hyuna has noticed that the thing with her and Hyojong is that they don’t _need_ words.

Hyojong moves closer, and suddenly Hyuna is invaded with his scent as he cuddles against her, placing his head under her breasts and wrapping his arm over her waist. He smells of weed and expensive cologne, a fragrance and brand she can’t quite place. She feels content, feels so _peaceful_. She doesn’t _ever_ want these halcyon days to end.

Hyuna kisses the top of his head, her lips meeting with tendrils of hair. She doesn’t mind the fact that her tank top is now getting damp, because Hyojong is here, nestled underneath Hyuna’s breast, and he’s _hers_.

Hyojong lifts his head and his body slants upwards minutely, and suddenly they’re _kissing_ , gossamer lips colliding with hers. Their movements are fluid, his lips opening in a licentious gasp and allowing her tongue to entrance, the muscle swiftly massaging the roof of his mouth. All background noise becomes nonexistent as Hyojong lovingly, languidly, _kisses_ her.

He sucks on her tongue, the sensation making her moan against him. Frissions go down her spine, and salaciously she reaches a hand up and fists his hair, taking the time to gently play with the tiny hairs at his male as they kiss. He tastes of alcohol, blue raspberry lollipops, and weed, a heavenly concoction only her twisted psyche could find pleasant. She nimbly bites on his bottom lip, which makes his hand tighten around her waist as he grounds into her fiercely. He’s eager, excited, _comfortable_ , and she enjoys this as much as he does.

Alas, breathing is an unfortunate necessity, and the kiss breaks with a string of saliva connecting them. Hyojong rests his forehead against hers, and they pant into each other’s mouth as they regain their composure. Hyuna smirks, benevolently with a hint of good natured teasing intertwined. Hyojong ignores it and kisses her gently again.

“I love you,” he says against her lips. The words make Hyuna smile.

“You sap,” she teases. Hyojong only grins and takes her teasing with an open heart. It’s moments after when quickly, perhaps a bit too sudden, the mood shifts, and his grin dampens. Hyuna is just about to question him when he speaks.

“I don’t want to die, not yet.”

The words shock her, but perhaps they shouldn’t. Hyojong has never truly spoke about his depression, only that he’s tried to kill himself numerous times. _For fun_ , he had said. He’d wanted to kill himself for fun since there had been nothing else to do, but his words were said with such caution, with such brevity that Hyuna and Hwitaek lacked faith in the truth of his statement.

If Hyuna is scared of Hyojong’s impending doom, then he must be _terrified_. She can’t imagine feeling as if life isn't worth living, can’t imagine pressing cold steel to her skin and hoping that she’s applied enough pressure so that the blood flows and is just enough to kill her. She can’t imagine being in Hyojong’s position, and the realization of what he’s going through frightens her.

“You won’t die,” Hyuna eventually says, her voice trembling as she fights to find the right words. “You have me, and Hwitaek, we’ll help you. We _love_ you, Hyojong.”

At her words Hyojong nods, and a grin blossoms on his kiss swollen lips, a true, genuine one that makes Hyuna’s abdomen pulse in awe, makes her fingers twitch with the need to touch, touch, _touch_.

“I love you,” Hyuna says again, and now she feels like the sap. But it’s no matter, since Hyojong smiles again, this time with glorious teeth, and kisses her one last time before leaving her wanting as he rests his head on her chest.

Nothing else is said between them, and they silently listen as Hwitaek fucks the ever loving shit out of whatever girl he’s with. She runs painted nails through his drying dirty blonde hair, and allows herself this moment of vulnerability, allows herself this moment of _happiness_.

As Hyojong falls asleep cuddled against her, his eyelashes curling perfectly against the tops of his freckled cheeks, Hyuna realizes that she has genuinely, undisputedly, _finally_ , found her **_euphoria_**.

 

**Author's Note:**

> this was actually my first fic published on here!! this makes it even better. if you want to come scream at me for this or even request something!! my twitter is @wooyutwt!


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